Confessions of a Bodyguard

Confessions of a Bodyguard

I know that I don't come off as the brightest person.

Actually, I bet I don't even come off as a bright person. Probably not even as a person who has more than six brain cells to rub together.

But I do. Hell, I've probably got at least eight. And while I am not the brightest person, I'm smart enough to notice certain things.

Like the way Crabbe checks out Pansy Parkinson when he thinks Draco isn't looking. And the way the Weasel makes eyes at the Mudblood, which I know she sees, but chooses to ignore -- not that I blame her -- I don't really go for the crazy-jealous-red-headed ones either. And the way that Finnigan's hand rests on Thomas's back just a little longer than it should. And I know all about how Blaise gets perfect marks on her exams. And I know that Crabbe doesn't really like Draco and is only being his "friend" because his father told him too, and when your father is the size of Crabbe's father, you listen to what he tells you to do.

And me? Truthfully, I don't terribly mind the bodyguard role. Being the strong, silent type hasn't attracted all that many girls; fine, no girls, but I'm not all that interested in dating right now. If you watched the way Draco and Pansy make each other miserable, you'd want to stay away from the opposite sex too.

Draco ignores her constantly, and she retaliates by flirting with any male in sight. She really slipped up one day though and tried it with Potter, which of course resulted in Draco having a huge fit. Especially when Harry seemed to be responding to her feminine allure. That particular mistake ended with Draco blowing up several armchairs and throwing the latest Teen Witch into the common room fire. Conveniently enough, the magazine featured a picture of Potter on the cover, and an article inside proclaiming that he loved "real girls who would rather going swimming than paint their nails". Draco and Pansy did not have their usual make-up sex that night. Not even a make-up snog, so he was in a rather bad mood for the rest of that week.

Of course he took it out on Potter. This was not a problem since we've been battling Potter and his sickly-sweet sidekicks for six years.

We were sauntering through the hall (Slytherins don't walk), when Draco spotted Potter.

"Look at that little fucker! Strolling through the halls as if he owns it! And how can he look at me after the way he so blatantly tried to steal Pansy!"

And with that battle cry, Draco hurled himself at Potter.

I have to give it to Potter though, he really gave Draco what he was asking for. Although surprised at first, he quickly became angered, and returned Draco's blows so fervently that it almost seemed as though he was lusting for every punch, and every terrible insult that Draco offered him.

I think that it would important to add here that I have also noticed how Draco looks at Potter. How he stares at him as he walks down the hall. How we always have to come up with these ridiculous, never-going-to-work plans to best Potter. There's something different than hate there. Something as strong, and as passionate, but still, very different. I'd like to call it love, but then I would be assuming something that I don't know to be true, and calling Draco a pouf in the process.

But, between you and me, I think they're both feeling something for each other. Something that's not hate, and might not be love, but could perhaps be a volatile mixture of the two.

As they're pulled apart, I see Draco spit on Potter's robes, and Potter raise his head with a defiant cry as he tries to wrestle out of Granger and Longbottom's grip. Thomas and Finnigan hold the Weasel back as he too, tries to break free. Potter is too much for his captors and manages to break away and ram Draco's stomach with his head. Crabbe and I release Draco so that he may properly defend himself, but, by this time, McGonagall and Snape have shown up. Snape immediately blames Potter, but McGonagall knows better by now. She assigns them both detention, but on separate days. I know this pains Draco because he tells me later that he'd like to get Potter alone and really rip into him.

Yeah, sure Draco. Really rip into him. I'm straight as hell and I know what that means.

But I don't say this. Instead I offer grunts of encouragement while I pound my hand with my fist, attempting to simulate anger and bloodthirstiness. Draco is apparently not as intelligent as he is pretty, and somehow misses my sarcasm and over-exaggerated gestures. Either that or he's thinking about Potter again.

And so it continues. Again and again, week after week, the same mundane, melodramatic clashes in the hall. They have yet to receive a detention together this year, and I know that they're both yearning for it. Draco calls out in his sleep at times. And I watch him as he thrashes about in the sheets, twisting them into a knot at the end of the bed. He mutters Potter's name, and never Pansy's. I notice these things.

I told him one day about the words that flow from him in the dead of night, and he put a silencing charm up around his bed. Of course, the twisting does not cease.

Potter watches Draco, too. When he thinks no one is looking he gives him lengthy looks full of lust and pain and longing. Looks that I know he believes will never be fulfilled. He thinks it is a lost cause, and yet, he watches.

And so what of this? What if one day Potter and Draco come to their senses and realize what's been staring them in the face for so long? I'm sure that it will be a love story to end the ages.

It already is though. Potter and Draco and love and hate and passion. Though it's not the right kind of love story now, it will be. Eventually.

Because no one, not even cold, no-feelings Draco, could have gone this long without saying something or at least having a snog. Though Potter is his sworn enemy, I think that Draco would drop the facade in about two seconds if Potter proposed an illicit affair.

Potter shows no sign of weakening and giving in anytime soon though. Perhaps it will have to be Draco who offers himself and closes his eyes in anticipation, hoping against hope that the boy standing in front of him will not turn down the offer of love that has never before passed through Draco's lips, and probably never will again.

Until then though, I will just continue to watch them watch each other. And watch them wind themselves further and further into a knot that they will never be able to untie. Not even if it becomes necessary to cut it in a vain attempt to save their lives.

Ahh, the advantages of being the strong, silent bodyguard who knows nothing and understands even less.